DC and Me By Aryan Deorah Staff Writer January 6th, 2021, a day that will live forever in infamy. It started like any other: I woke up around noon, did my morning routine, ate breakfast, and texted my two best friends to see if they could hang out. Over the whole winter break, we spent our days playing ping pong, enjoying our video games, and watching movies together in my basement. I felt the cold winter air as I opened the basement door for them to come inside, and we immediately started rallying on the ping pong table. 20 minutes later, one of my friends checked their phone, paused, and shouted, “Where’s the remote?” I figured something was wrong, so I immediately turned on the news. We spent the next few hours watching in horror as we saw images of white supremacists sieging our Capitol. The fact that this was happening just an hour away made it hurt even more. I have spent my whole life in proximity to DC and have seen its beautiful lights and skyline hundreds of times. I have toured the Capitol and walked its halls. Just two weeks before insurrection, my parents took me to visit the Christmas lights on the Capitol lawn. As I stood in the same place that domestic terrorists would soon siege, I pointed right at the glorious rotunda, and declared that one day, regardless of where life would take me, I would come back to DC and fulfill my dreams of working in the Capitol as a congressman. Though I never lived in the city, something about it always made me feel at home. When I was there, I was part of something bigger than myself; I was part of the incredible history and symbolism that the district stood for. Though I kept this in mind, my friends and I carried on with our days as usual as the footage continued to play in the background. Our generation has been desensitized to chaos and violence: we
were born in a country reeling from 9/11, grew up as the global economy collapsed, and graduated from high school virtually due to global pandemic. We started to get hungry and chose a restaurant; the only thing we were waiting on was permission from my parents. I would never forget my mother’s response after asking them if we could go, “What the hell are you thinking Aryan? It isn’t safe for people like us.” Those last three words “people like us” echo in my mind. They had a clear meaning: my friends and I were brown Indian-Americans and we were in danger. There had already been reports of vandalism and broken glass in nearby majority-minority neighborhoods and as I would later find out, disturbing videos circulated on social media of white supremacists stating that they were coming for brown and black people in the area. Within a few minutes my friend’s parents called them, forbidding them from leaving my house with eerily similar warnings. As we were shut in for the night, I began to think about the cruel irony of how this happened in DC, a city whose whole layout symbolically represents the core values of America. As you drive from Virginia into the city, you catch a glimpse of the Kennedy Center gleaming over the Potomac, a testament to America’s incredible visual and performing arts talent. Once you reach the National Mall, you find yourself standing under the towering Washington Monument, a symbol of American might. Facing North, you see the White House, the residence of the leader of the free world. Facing West, you notice the Lincoln and World World Two Memorials, standing as reminders of the struggles our nation has overcome. Finally, as you face East, the US Capitol appears far off in the distance, the seat of American democracy. Within 20 minutes, you can walk from where nine justices struck down racial segregation, to where MLK delivered his “I Have a Dream” speech, to where the first Black man
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